…of the bell

A silent spring wood
a place well hidden from all

a leaf chased by wind
a cloud of sparrows startle

still a peace remains
the dream is quiet for now

a slow drifting boat
barely raising a ripple

the sun sinking low
throwing down long dark shadows

the silence broken
by sudden frantic rattling

the windows trembling
in their fragile wooden frames

then from the distance
there comes the sound of the bell

as the dream stretches
effortlessly rolls over

reveals a dark face
fear rides in on a cold wind

the bell seems closer
I cannot awaken yet

I cannot recall
and I do not wish to know

I dread the quiet
yet I pull it close to me

I thirst for silence
die a little more inside
and strain to hear the bell toll
© Ann Bagnall 2016